


never been so lost (never felt so much at home)

by fadeastride



Category: Baseball RPF
Genre: Friends to Lovers, M/M, Road Trips
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-13
Updated: 2018-01-13
Packaged: 2019-03-04 10:06:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,030
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13362348
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fadeastride/pseuds/fadeastride
Summary: It's a good thing, Daniel thinks, that he’s not the kind of guy to plan out his cross-country treks, because Ian practically inviting himself along would have thrown one hell of a wrench into those plans.





	never been so lost (never felt so much at home)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [tobalance](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tobalance/gifts).



> HOLY SHIT I'M SORRY THIS IS SO LATE. The past month and a half has been wild. Hopefully this makes up for it?
> 
> I love these stupid assholes.
> 
> Title from "I Woke Up In A Car" by Something Corporate, because it felt appropriate.

It's a good thing, Daniel thinks, that he’s not the kind of guy to plan out his cross-country treks, because Ian practically inviting himself along would have thrown one hell of a wrench into those plans.

“You don't mind, right?” Ian had asked, like he hadn't already made up his mind to come along. And Daniel doesn't mind, not really, even though these trips are a thing he does for himself.

“It's small,” he'd warned. “There's not a lot of bed space. And the radio only has an 8-track player.”

Ian had only grinned. “Sounds fun.”

So he picks Ian and his duffel bag up at the Nashville airport. Ian slides in the passenger’s side and tosses his bag behind the seat.

“You sure you want to do this?” Daniel asks. “Last chance to back out.”

Ian points dramatically, straight out the windshield. “Start driving, pretty boy.”

They head north out of Nashville. There’s so much weird shit in the Midwest, Daniel knows, giant balls of twine and folk art spiders made out of cars and who knows what else. He wants Ian to see as much of it as he can, but he wants it to happen organically. He's not a planner, not really, only knows the general routes they're going to take without knowing for sure where they'll stop along the way.

That doesn't stop Ian from draining his phone battery in fewer than three hours because he's searching for things to see.

“You know,” Ian says. “I’ve never actually been to where they make Louisville Slug- oh, for fuck’s sake.”

“Phone die?”

“You know it did, asshole.”

Daniel chuckles, but he knows they’re not far from Louisville on 65, even though he’s never been there either.

Outside the factory is a giant bat and Ian steals Daniel’s phone to make a tourist take a picture of them in front of it.

The factory tour is interesting, even if Daniel keeps catching fellow tour-goers staring at Ian because they know who he is. Ian’s oblivious, leaning over at every step of production to whisper, “My bats are better,” until Daniel cuffs him upside the back of the head.

They end up taking pictures with and signing autographs for a handful of people after the tour, scrawling their names across the miniature bats the factory gives out like either of them uses the brand.

Ian sticks his souvenir bat in the side panel of the van. “Okay, I’ve stolen proprietary secrets. Now can I charge my phone?”

“Nah,” Daniel says, and pulls onto eastbound 64. Ian groans.

Daniel makes him suffer with no phone until they're somewhere east of Charleston and getting ready to hunker down for the night. They find a diner that'll let them charge their phones, eat giant burgers, and brush their teeth in the bathroom before heading somewhere they can park the van for the night.

“What kind of temperature are we looking at tonight?” Ian asks, breath coming in clouds.

“Ten, fifteen degrees. Give or take a couple.”

“Jesus,” Ian gripes, tugging his thermals on. “Frigid bullshit.”

Daniel pulls his own thermals on. “You're the one who wanted to come.”

The look Ian gives him is murderous until his face cracks into a smile. “Yeah, yeah. Shut up, I'm going to bed.”

When Daniel wakes up, Ian’s sitting with his legs crossed, blanket wrapped around him like he’s in a cocoon.

“Hey,” Ian says, “I found something ridiculous. Feed me and then I’ll give you directions, yeah?”

Daniel rubs the sleep from his eyes. “What time izzit?”

“Uh, just after seven, I think. Late. Feed me.”

Daniel blinks at him once, twice, before rolling back over to sleep another half an hour. When he comes to again, Ian’s in the exact same position, but there’s a box of oatmeal and the hot plate sitting in front of him.

“Rise and shine, Sleeping Beauty,” he coos as he snakes his hand free of the blanket to grab the oatmeal. “Prince Charming is hungry.” He gives the box a vicious shake in Daniel’s face.

“Prince Charming, my ass,” Daniel retorts, stealing the box out of his hand. “Move, so I don’t burn you boiling the water.”

Oatmeal’s one of the easier things to make on a hot plate and Daniel ate an awful lot of it when he was living in this van for real, but he somehow still likes it. He makes too much of it and laughs when Ian eats the better part of three servings and has to lie back down because he’s too full.

“You can’t be useless. You gotta give me directions, remember?”

Ian’s eyes are closed, hands draped loosely over his stomach like that might help. “I can do both. You slept so long, I memorized the way there. I don’t even need my phone.”

“You plan on driving any stretch of this trip?”

“Maybe. Maybe not.”

Daniel socks him gently in the thigh before climbing into the driver’s seat. “Lead the way.”

The highway runs through some of the most beautiful backcountry Daniel’s ever seen, old wooden buildings dotting the snow, clear blue sky stretching behind it all. He’s been to West Virginia in the summer, when it’s green and humid and the bugs are the size of his fist, but this feels like an old movie or something.

Daniel knows he’s gotten where he was supposed to go before Ian even tells him, because of course they’re here for the giant fiberglass statues embedded in some people’s yard.

“Is that...is he holding a muffler?”

Ian scrambles up. “Muffler Man!” he crows.

“He looks like a fucked up Jughead.”

“Hey,” Ian  says, pointing an accusing finger in his face. “Respect Muffler Man.”

Daniel scans the statues. “What about the dude in swim trunks in December? Can I disrespect him?”

“You can do whatever you want, as long as you respect Muffler Man.” Ian tugs his boots on and hops out of the van. Daniel follows.

The people who own the statues are nice enough to chat with them for a few minutes. When the husband offers to take a picture of them in front of Muffler Man, Ian’s whole face lights up.

Most of the pictures Daniel’s been posting to his Instagram are artsier shots, nothing as good as he’ll post once he gets back home with his camera, but good enough for phone pictures. Most of the pictures Ian’s been posting are selfies of the two of them, or pictures he charms the locals or other tourists into taking of them.

The guys think it’s hilarious, blowing up the comments and razzing them about their bromance or asking why  _they_ weren’t invited. Daniel thinks to himself that Ian wasn’t technically invited either. He’s enjoying the company, though.

Ian drives them through Pennsylvania, makes the executive decision not to stop in Hershey because he knows he can’t be trusted around that much chocolate. He doesn’t fiddle with the radio as much when he drives, but he still talks. He and Daniel are friends, have been friends, but Daniel feels like he’s learned more about him in two days than he has in the past two years.

He starts to flag just over the Connecticut border and Daniel finds a rest stop outside Stamford where they can spend the night.

“I know we play in Detroit. I know it gets fucking cold there. But I have central heat in my house. Right now, I think my balls have retreated inside my body,” Ian says, teeth chattering as he tucks himself into his blankets.

Daniel laughs and his breath comes out in a cloud. “We could always cuddle.”

“We’re not fucking cuddling, Jesus. I’ll freeze to death first.”

“Suit yourself.” Daniel pulls his own blankets around himself a little tighter. He’s used to the cold.

In the morning, they hit the pay-as-you-go showers across the parking lot before trekking to the McDonald’s for egg McMuffins and coffee to melt their hands. Daniel thinks they can get where he wants to go by noon, and Ian offers to drive again.

Daniel’s never let anyone but his dad drive the van, but he doesn’t really mind Ian driving her. He decides not to think about it.

They do get to Middletown around noon, and Daniel guides Ian to one of his favorite places in the continental US.

“Whoa,” Ian says as he pulls into the parking lot of Wild Bill’s. “It looks like the last sixty years just fucking puked on this place.”

“I think that’s actually what happened,” Daniel says.

There’s some crazy shit here, Daniel knows, coffins and art he doesn’t understand and an unfinished funhouse that he wants to fund to completion himself. They wander the grounds for a while, and Ian stays out of the way while Daniel photographs some of it. Inside the store, Ian picks up a couple of weird old bobbleheads for his kids.

“These are wild,” he says when they’re back in the van. “I hope Jack’s old enough that this won’t freak him out.” He flicks the head of the creepy little alien and then imitates its bobble until Daniel laughs at him.

“You’re into some strange things, man.”

Ian nods. “Strange is better than boring.”

Daniel considers him for a moment. “I think I have an idea for our next stop.

He gets them past Boston with just enough time left to see what they came for before the place closes..

“Museum of Bad Art,” Ian reads off the sign outside. “Oh my god. Yes.”

The museum is, in fact, terrible. There’s a Pointillism-style painting of a shirtless old man on a toilet, paintings of people for whom normal proportions are unnecessary, paintings that look like Ian’s kids could have painted them if Ian regularly gave his children LSD. They spend more time in the gallery than any of the other visitors, coming up with fake pretentious interpretations of some of the worst pieces and laughing too loudly. By the time they’re ready to leave, the employees are cleaning up the gift shop and they have wait for someone with a key to unlock the front door. Ian shoves a twenty in the donation jar on the way out.

“I know this is day three,” Ian says as they walk to the car. “But I don’t see anything topping that. You might as well take me to the airport now. That’s as good as it gets.”

It’s too late to go very far, so they find a place where Ian can get a giant salad (“Look, I love a burger, but sometimes you really need a vegetable.”) and Daniel can get a decent cup of tea before they call it a night.

They’re anywhere in middle-of-nowhere New York the next morning when Avila calls, tells Ian the Angels have made an offer they like, asks if he’d be willing to waive his no-trade clause for them. Ian’s voice is so calm when he says he’ll have to talk to Tess and think about it for a while.

When he hangs up, the silence is suffocating but Daniel’s not about to be the one to break it.

“The Angels,” Ian says finally. “The goddamn Angels.”

“Shit,” Daniel says, because he doesn’t know what else to say.

Out of the corner of his eye, he can see Ian turning his phone over and over again in his hands.

“I gotta call my wife.”

Daniel nods and tries not to think about the team without him.

He and Tess talk for the better part of 30 miles, the radio off and nothing at all for Daniel to stare at out the window as he drives.

When he hangs up, he takes a deep breath, one that shakes a little in his throat, and says, “Looks like I’m going to California.”

“Fuck,” Daniel says.

“Fuck,” Ian agrees.

They stop for the night not long after, somewhere in either Pennsylvania or Ohio, Daniel’s not quite sure. They stop partly because the sun is setting and partly because Daniel doesn’t want to move forward tonight. Now it feels too much like this trip is a race to the end of something, and his stomach turns at the thought.

It’s getting colder as they go; Daniel can feel the chill seeping through his layers more and more each night. Ian must feel it too, if his increased bitching is any indication.

“I want to say that I don’t regret coming along, but I do regret coming along in December. Because it’s fucking freezing.” Ian’s teeth are chattering so bad Daniel almost can’t make out what he’s saying.

“C’mere,” he says, slinging his left arm and leg over Ian’s body and pulling him in close. “Don’t no homo me, body heat’s the best way to stay warm.”

“I bet you do this with all the girls,” Ian grumbles. Daniel just laughs.

“Not in a while, but I’m not gonna say I haven’t.”

Ian’s quiet for a minute.

“I’m mad because it’s actually working.”

“Did I not say it would? Now shut up and go to sleep. It’s your turn to drive tomorrow.”

The groan Ian lets out is spectacular, but he settles down and lets Daniel keep him warm until they both drift off.

In the morning, it’s more oatmeal doctored up with extra maple syrup that Ian must have bought at the last gas station.

“What’s the plan?” Ian asks as he waits for his food to cool.

“Well, my goal is to stay the fuck away from Chicago on the way to Wisconsin, I think.”

Ian chews thoughtfully. “What’s in Wisconsin besides the Brewers and cheese?”

“Is cheese not enough for you?”

They drive for eight solid hours and only stop when Daniel has to pee and when Ian finally gets hungry around midafternoon. Ian’s quiet most of the way, one hand on the wheel and the other searching for a decent radio station. He’s processing, Daniel knows. Daniel’s processing, too. He doesn’t mind quiet, but he feels like he’s wasting time.

They do give Chicago a wide berth and get as far as Rockford before Ian starts to yawn. There’s a minor league hockey game, though, and Daniel thinks drinking some overpriced beer and watching underpaid kids beat the shit out of each other sounds like a good way to spend the evening.

Ian’s three beers in by the second period. “Hockey’s great. I don’t completely understand it, but it’s great.”

“You live in Dallas. You’ve got a team.”

“Aren’t they garbage, though? I don’t know. Maybe.”

Daniel doesn’t know who wins the game, doesn’t really care. He finds a place to park the van and they change in silence.

Ian reaches behind him under the blankets and tugs Daniel’s arm around him. “Drunk me is a warm me. I generously gift my warmth to you.”

Daniel laughs. “Thanks, I guess?”

Ian makes a content noise and nestles deeper into the blankets. “Welcome.” He really is warm, and Daniel lets the comfort wash over him until he falls asleep.

There’s a lot of junk statues in Wisconsin, Daniel knows, but they’ve seen a bunch of those already and he knows there’s got to be something better. By the time Ian blinks awake, he thinks he’s found it.

“Morning, sunshine!” he chirps as Ian scrubs a hand over his face. “There’s a diner like a mile from here, because I want real coffee. After that, I found a motel that’ll let me pay them too much money so we can take a shower and do a load of laundry.”

“Oh, thank god,” Ian mutters, running his fingers through his greasy hair, which sticks straight up for his effort.

“You’re disgusting and you need a shower, what can I say? Anyway, I have a destination, so wake your sorry ass up.”

Ian flips him off, but he gets up anyway.

They head north out of Rockford, keep to the west of Madison until they hit a place the sign announces is Spring Green.

“Green, my ass,’ Ian says. “I bet this place is tundra year-round.”

Daniel flicks his arm as hard as he can without taking his eyes off the road. “I’ve got directions on my phone. You gotta play navigator for me right now.”

At the top of the hill sits a strange-looking house, all angles and protrusions.

“The fuck is that?” Ian asks as they pull into a parking spot.

“It’s called the House on the Rock. There’s supposed to be a bunch of crazy shit inside.”

Crazy shit doesn’t even begin to cover it, Daniel realizes once they’ve paid the entrance fee and actually gone in. It starts normal enough, sure, big rooms with fireplaces and standard old rich people art. Beyond that, though, are self-playing music machines and giant eldritch monsters and suits of armor and topless angels. There’s stairs and ramps and hallways that stretch and stretch.

“This is like a fucked-up Hogwarts,” Ian grumbles as they walk up their fourth flight of stairs. “There’s a three-headed dog in here somewhere, I swear to god.”

It takes almost three hours to take in the whole house, and they’re both exhausted by the end of it.

“So,” Ian says, with a voice too practiced to be casual. “This place also has an inn.”

Daniel makes a noise of acknowledgment.

“Fuck, man, can we stay in the inn? Can I have one night where I can feel my fucking toes?” He looks almost beseeching; Daniel can’t say no.

There’s two beds in the room, like a standard hotel, but Ian crawls into Daniel’s bed anyway once he’s turned the lights off.

Daniel thinks he should question it.

He doesn’t.

When he wakes up, Ian’s staring at him. He goes a little pink when he realizes Daniel’s awake.

“Did you know,” he says, “that there’s a palace made entirely out of  _corn_ in South Dakota?”

Daniel did, actually, and he says as much.

“That was your cue to get up and take a shower, dickwad. I wanna see the corn.”

Daniel stretches, scratches his stomach. “It’s like an eight hour drive from here, I think. It’ll be closed by the time we get there.” He opens his eyes in time to see the pillow hurtling toward his face.

“Get in the shower.”

It’s a long drive to South Dakota, but there’s a Spam museum and some truly gorgeous geologic structures on the way, so it isn’t all bad.

They’re almost to Sioux Falls when Ian says, “I don’t want to go to California.”

“I know,” Daniel says, because he does know.

“I don’t want to leave the guys.”

“I know,” Daniel says, because he knows that, too.

Ian’s voice is so quiet Daniel can barely hear it when he says, “I don’t want to leave you.”

“I - oh.”

“Yeah,” Ian says, eyes trained firmly on some spot in the distance. His fingers are flexing they way they do when Daniel knows he’s thinking too hard.

If there were anything to say that might lighten the mood, Daniel would say it, but all his useless brain is coming up with is shit that’d make everything worse. He puts his hand on Ian’s knee instead, squeezes gently, and pretends not to notice when Ian’s face crumples just a little at the touch.

They stop for the night between Sioux Falls and the Corn Palace, because Ian looks exhausted.

“The thing about building a house or whatever out of corn,” Daniel says in the dark. “You’d _have_ to have it in a place like South Dakota that doesn’t get too hot. If you built it in California or Florida, all the corn would pop and you’d be fucked.”

“You’re so stupid,” Ian says, laughter punctuating his words. “Sometimes I just-”

Ian leans in then, puts his mouth to Daniel’s, and something in Daniel’s brain short circuits and shuts down.

Whatever it is, it’s not the part that tells him to kiss back.

He gets his hand in Ian’s hair, swallows the noise Ian makes when he pulls a little. The air around them is so, so cold, but everything Daniel knows has narrowed down to the warmth of Ian’s mouth. Ian pushes back, moves them until he’s laying half on top of Daniel, and Daniel can feel how hard he is even through layers and layers of clothes.

Daniel pulls away. “What about Tess?”

Ian stops to catch his breath.“She knows I'm stupid about you. She's been making fun of me for ages, calling me chicken shit because I wouldn't make a move.”

“So she doesn't mind?”

The way Ian laughs goes all the way down to Daniel's toes. “It was her idea for me to come with you.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah, oh.” Ian scrapes his teeth along Daniel's jaw till he can't help but shake. “Now, we could keep talking about my wife, or we could-”

Daniel doesn't even let him finish his sentence before he's got their mouths pressed back together.

He gasps when Ian slips a hand beneath the waistband of his sweats. “Holy shit, your hands are cold.”

“Well, then I guess I’ll just have to use my mouth.”

Daniel hopes God will forgive him for taking His name in vain.

They do see the Corn Palace in the morning, but it feels less important now. Ian takes a selfie of them in front of a sleepy-eyed corn statue, and Daniel’s sure he’s imagining it, but it  _feels_ like Ian’s standing closer than he usually does.

The Badlands in the western part of the state are something else, like the Wasteland, if the Wasteland was actually fucking beautiful. They spend the night in a hotel in the Pine Ridge Reservation on the southwest edge, because their waitress at dinner mentions that it had dropped below zero the night before and Ian’s eyes nearly bug out of his head.

Ian loses fifty bucks in the casino and gripes about it the whole way up to the room, until Daniel pushes him against the door and shuts him up.

The drive through Nebraska is flat and not particularly interesting, though they do venture off the highway when they see a sign advertising something called Carhenge.

It’s exactly what it sounds like. It’s vintage cars, painted grey like the monoliths at Stonehenge, half buried in the dirt or stacked atop one another in the most Midwestern homage to the English version.

“This is so white trash,” Ian says, snapping a picture. “I fucking love it.”

“That’s because you’re white trash.”

Ian scoffs. “And you’re not?”

Daniel strokes his beard. “I’m cultured.”

“Mmhmm,” Ian says, reaching out to give Daniel’s beard a tug. “The epitome of a fine gentleman. How many days have you been wearing the same pair of long underwear? Is this day seven?”

“Irrelevant.” He’d forgotten to throw them in the washer back in Wisconsin and he knows they’re pretty ripe, but whatever.

They get most of the way to the western border of Colorado before stopping for the night. Daniel wants to cut across Utah and Nevada on the way to California.

Ian’s dicking on his phone, letting Daniel kiss the back of his neck.

“Some dude carved a house out of a cliff?”

Daniel drags his teeth over Ian’s ear. “Hmm?”

“Hold up, do that again.” Daniel does, and Ian’s whole body vibrates. “Goddamn. Okay. Anyway, some dude in Utah carved a whole house out of a cliffside. Apparently it’s amazing.”

“Are you saying you want to go?”

Ian sets his alarm and sets his phone aside. “I mean, eventually.” He climbs on his hands and knees before straddling Daniel’s hips. “I’ve got very different plans for right this second.”

Daniel grabs him by the collar and pulls him down.

Utah is everything Daniel expected it to be, Mormons and weak beer and snow. The house carved into the mountain is pretty cool, but he’s still glad when they cross the border into Nevada. They head due west, a straight shot almost to Reno, stopping in Virginia City because Ian says there’s a haunted hotel there and he wants to stay in it.

Daniel doesn’t know how he feels about ghosts, but they check in anyway.

It’s haunted. It’s totally haunted. There’s footsteps in the hallway but no one there when Ian opens the door. Daniel hears a woman’s voice in his ear when he’s in the shower. When he comes out of the bathroom, Ian swears up and down that he saw a woman come out before him and disappear through the closed front door of the room.

Neither one of them sleeps well.

There’s a ton of weird shit in California, because Californians are fucking weird, and Daniel knows they could spend days seeing all the the strange things the state has to offer. They drive through what feels like a never-ending stretch of national forests, cut along the edge of Yosemite and down into the desert. They steer clear of LA, because the van is truly not meant for that kind of traffic. When they finally get to Joshua Tree, they stop for the night.

The best thing about being out west is that it’s not quite as fucking frozen here. It’s cold, sure, but the 35 degree night Joshua Tree offers them feels downright toasty after South Dakota. They can hear coyotes howling in the near distance.

When they wake up, it’s almost 50 degrees out and Daniel goes outside to stretch in only a pair of sweats and a t-shirt. The sun feels magnificent, like it’s warming him from his bones, and it only feels better when Ian drapes himself along Daniel’s back.

“What did you want to see out here?” Ian asks, handing him a mug of instant coffee.

“There’s a place south of here I was thinking about. Looked interesting.”

They trace the eastern shore of the Salton Sea until they get to Niland.

“There’s like 40 people and a chicken here. What the fuck did you want to see here?”

Daniel leads him to Salvation Mountain.

It’s a mountain of straw and paint and Bible verses sticking up out of the California desert, and Daniel thinks it’s a monument to faith. It’s not easy, he’s heard, taking care of such a large piece of folk art in such an unforgiving place, but these people channel their faith into its upkeep.

“Is this why you bought paint last night?”

Daniel nods, digs the bucket out of the front seat and gives it to the woman who greets them.

It’s beautiful, bright colors splashed against shades of brown.

God be merciful to me a sinner, and make me to know and believe in Jesus Christ,” Daniel prays, and Ian links their pinkies together. 

He feels calmer when they leave. 

They drive ever farther south, almost touching the border, before heading east. Arizona is more desert, and they only stop for lunch and bathroom breaks, and for Ian to visit an ostrich ranch off the highway. 

The picture Daniel gets of Ian befriending one of the giant dinosaur birds is Daniel’s favorite picture from the trip thus far. 

The sun goes down near Deming and they stop for night. There’s a turn of the century armory in town, and they make plans to check it out in the morning. The real goal for the next day, though, is the Area 51 museum in Roswell. 

“Didn’t take you for the alien type,” Ian teases. 

“I think God created many things.” 

Ian frowns. “It’s not fun when you’re all logical about it.” 

The museum is absolutely ridiculous, little green men and wooden dioramas where tourists are encouraged to take pictures of themselves in various scenes. It’s not serious at all, and Daniel gets some great shots of Ian wielding a meat cleaver and pretending to perform an alien autopsy. 

“This was stupid,” Ian says, but he’s laughing. “I gotta bring the kids. Rian would love this shit.” 

The mention of Ian’s kids doesn’t sting, exactly, but it starts a series of questions in Daniel’s head. 

That night, curled together not 400 miles from Ian’s wife and kids, Daniel asks, “What are we doing?”

“Like, right now?”

“In general. I know you’re not leaving your wife for me, and I wouldn’t want you to. So. What are we doing?”

Ian’s quiet for a minute. “I thought it was pretty clear.”

“Well, it’s not. Not to me.”

He can feel Ian’s fingers dancing under the hem of his shirt, not trying to start anything, just a grounding touch.

“I guess it depends on if you’re willing to share.”

“Share? You?”

“Me. Tess is.”

This isn’t something Daniel’s ever thought about, not anything he’s ever had to think about. But now that he’s thinking about it, he wonders if it might work.

“You’re going to be so far away.”

“I am. But we’ll play each other a few times a year. All-Star break. Offseasons.”

“Skype is a thing.”

“Skype is definitely a thing,” Ian agrees. “Skype _sex_ is also definitely a thing.”

“Shhh, you’re ruining the moment,” Daniel says, pressing the palm of his hand over Ian’s mouth until Ian licks it.

There’s silence for a minute, for a minute longer. “So?” Ian finally asks. “You in?”

“Yeah,” Daniel says. “Yeah, I’m in.”

They don’t talk much after that.

In the morning, Daniel wakes with Ian’s limbs draped over him like some kind of octopus. He lies there for a while, searching for things to do in Texas, until Ian wakes up.

The thing about Texas is that most of the state has no idea how weird it is. Austin knows it’s weird, but the whole state is just as weird as Austin, with next to no concept of how not-normal it is.

Looming in front of them is a 15 foot tall statue of Jesus, carrying a cross, wearing cowboy boots.

“What the fuck?” Ian asks and Daniel can't stop laughing. “Your people are fucking wild.”

“My people?”

“Christians.”

“Hey now,” Daniel says. “We're in your state. If anything, these are  _your_ people.”

Ian looks contemplative. “That's fair.” The picture he posts to Instagram is simply captioned _wtf Texas_.

Daniel will give Texas the fact that its food is unreal. Massive portions of well-cooked barbecue at reasonable prices are a gift as far as Daniel’s concerned, and he has no qualms about eating so much brisket that Ian practically has to carry him to the van.

And then drive to where they’re spending the night because Daniel can’t even get his seatbelt on.

“What are you, like, meat-drunk?” Ian asks, poking him gently in the side.

“Don’t touch me, I will puke. And yes. Meat-drunk. The best kind of drunk.” Daniel rolls his window down as quick as he can to stick his head outside. He needs cold air if he’s going to keep all this food in his stomach.

Ian just shakes his head. “Useless,” he mutters, and Daniel grins into the wind rushing past him.

Supposedly, Louisiana also has phenomenal food. Daniel wishes he could say anything about it at all, but he’s got such a food hangover in the morning that Ian only gives him a little bowl of oatmeal and a bottle of water for breakfast. He’d be mad, but Ian’s right; trying to eat anything else would not end well for any of them.

Ian drives them down into the bayou.

“I made us some reservations,” he says. “How do you feel about swamps?”

Daniel doesn’t have any feelings about swamps either way, really. “They’re cool, I guess?”

“Good. Because we’re touring one.”

The boat is small but feels sturdy enough, and the weather’s not too bad as they coast out into the swamp. The guide has a dry sense of humor, cracking jokes in his French-tinged drawl.

There’s all kinds of animals, herons and egrets and some other water birds, and the hugest alligator Daniel’s ever had the misfortune of meeting. Ian laughs when Daniel’s nails dig into his leg.

“Calm down. We can eat his brother after the tour.”

Daniel gags. “Not. Helping.”

Ian throws his head back and roars.

They buy Daniel a Sprite when they’re back on dry land, and he alternates sipping it slowly and sticking his head out the window to suck down as much cool air as possible. Ian drives them out past Baton Rouge and up 59 into Mississippi. Darkness falls as they near Stonewall and Daniel searches out a place to spend the night.

There’s a Piggly Wiggly in town and they wander the aisles and bicker about what to eat for dinner before picking up a package of hot dogs and a bag of buns.

Ian’s been getting pretty good at cooking on the hot plate, and it shouldn’t make Daniel feel fond, but it does.

He’s looked at the map. He knows they’re almost back to Nashville, that this is their last night in the van. Ian hasn’t said anything, but surely he knows too. He watches Ian lick ketchup off his hand and can’t stop himself from saying, “I don’t want you to go home.”

Ian blinks. “I have to.”

That’s the worst part. “I know.”

“I’m coming back, though. You know that, right?”

Daniel nods. He does know that. It’s just. Hard to see, sometimes.

Ian nudges Daniel’s foot with his own. “Eat your hot dog and get some sleep and you’ll feel better in the morning, okay?”

Daniel doesn’t think he’ll every really feel better about it, but he takes another bite anyway.

It’s quiet, after that, and neither of them says anything while they brush their teeth and get ready for bed. Ian holds him tighter, though, just a little bit, when they slip under the blankets.

When Daniel wakes up, Ian’s got his phone laying on his chest.

“I, uh. I bought a plane ticket for tonight,” Ian says. He’s looking at the roof. “So I’ll be back in time to eat Chinese food with my kids for Christmas.”

Daniel laughs, because he loves that Ian has traditions for a holiday he doesn’t even celebrate, and because he does feel better now that the sun’s up. He knows it’s not goodbye forever, not even goodbye for very long, if they can swing it right.

“Well,” Daniel says. “We’d better get moving. We’ve got a state-and-a-half’s worth of road to cover.”

Ian pulls the covers up over his head for a minute before shoving them to the side and scrambling up.

“Fine,” he says. “And I’ll pay for breakfast, but you’re driving.”

It’s a five hour drive from Stonewall to Nashville on a good day, but Christmas traffic pushes it closer to six. They still get to the airport with plenty of time before Ian’s flight and Daniel parks the van so he can walk Ian in as far as he can.

He’s halfway out of the car when Ian say, “Hang on a sec,” and grabs him by the back of the jacket to haul him back inside. “I can’t exactly kiss you goodbye in the middle of the airport.”

He’s right, of course. Daniel pulls his door shut again and leans into Ian’s space, lets Ian close the distance.

It’s soft, sweeter than he was expecting, and Daniel wants to wrap himself in it for the rest of the winter. His lips are buzzing when they finally pull apart.

Ian squeezes his hand before getting out of the car and grabbing his bag. They walk in slow, shoulders bumping the whole way.

Ian stops just inside. “I'll see you in May, for sure. Sneak you up to my hotel room or something. ”

“Fraternizing with the enemy,” Daniel says, stopping beside him.

“Goddamn right.” He wraps his arms around Daniel, hugs him fiercely.

“Next off-season,” he says, with a smile so real it makes Daniel's teeth hurt. “Next year, after I homer off you in the ALCS, we're gonna do this again. But we're gonna hit every state in the mainland, yeah?”

“After I strike you out looking, you mean,” Daniel says, half-teasing. “But yeah, hell yeah. You and me against the world.”


End file.
